Dark clouds moving in slowly,
Casting a shadow like that of night,
The wind silently howls to you,
You anticipate a show of delight.
Delight which did not show itself,
No dancing souls across the sky,
Dark clouds you are deceiving,
Why? Oh Why? Oh Why?
Maybe no dancing souls,
No shadows cast from this delight,
Surely the rain itself…
Is beauty within its own right.
– Annalee Hopkins Somerville
One who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth–his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space (‘mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc–shield of Tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
Of providential goodness ever nigh!
– William Wordsworth
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